You Don't Raise Heroes You Raise Sons
by EscritorAlma
Summary: Arthur never had goodluck, so when he ran into some O'Driscolls he was not surprised.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur Morgan was loyal to a fault, and it became incredibly clear to him as he was spurring his horse faster down the road near Clemens point. Luck was never on his side and this was no different, how the O'Driscolls found him so soon after his return was beyond him but it definitely put a damper on things. Dutifully he led them away from camp, away from his family, idly wondering if he got caught his family would mourn him or even know he was gone. Under him Soleil, his white Arabian, groaned and whined as she tried to outrun the gang behind her, he gently pet her neck whispering encouraging words to her as they barreled down the dirt path. By now he figured he was far enough from camp he could make some noise, so he turned and grabbed his volcanic pistol from his side and fired blindly behind him.

He could hear the shout of pain, followed by the frightened scream of a horse and one less purser trailed after him. He knew he couldn't push Soleil much more but he was desperate to get away, so he holstered his gun and steered her into the trees, near where the German couple had been hiding. Unluckily his luck ran short and he ran straight into more O'Driscolls.

"Shit! How many of you are there?!" Arthur shouted before turning his horse sharply to the right towards to river bed. He knew now there was no escape, and that feeling solidified when he felt a lasso wrap around his neck from behind pull him off Soleil. His breathing effectively cut short he desperately grasped at the rope around his neck, pulling, hoping for some air. A greasy, slightly overweight man hopped off his horse holding the lasso and flipped Arthur over before hogtying him up and loosening the rope around his neck.

"Well lookee here, boys! We got Arthur freaking Morgan! Van Der Linde's trusty body guard. Oh, Colm will be glad to have you back, it's... Unfortunate your time together was cut short last time, but we wont make that mistake again." The man snarled, with a chuckle at the end. Arthur gasped for air as he lay on his stomach, a knot of dread building in his stomach. Surely this time would kill him, send his body back for Dutch to see.

"Go to hell!" Arthur bit out, a swift kick to the ribs was the only reply he got before the butt of a gun came crashing down onto his skull and Arthur was lost to the world.

Pain.

So much pain.

Arthur woke with a gasp, followed by a groan as he realized he was once again hung upside, somewhere he didn't recognize. This time however, there was a bucket under him and an assortment of blades decorated the bloody table. Fear wormed its way up Arthur throat and before he could think the door to the room he was in was burst open.

"Mr. Morgan. Glad you came back." Colm drawled before sinking his fist into Arthur's stomach. Arthur groaned again, wisely keeping his mouth shut. Colm smirked and sauntered over to the table where the knives rested.

"We were so disappointed that our last... visit... was cut short. Things have changed around here Morgan, we won't make the same mistake twice." He hummed as he picked up a long, curved blade. "Well, I wont keep you waiting. Lets begin our fun! I need something to send back to Ole Dutch." and with that Colm stabbed the knife deep into Arthur side causing Arthur to shout in pain and try to wriggle away to no avail. Blood dripped down the blade onto Colm's hand.

"Your hat and a picture should do, I imagine." He said, grabbing Arthur's camera from his satchel. "Say Colm O'Driscoll!" He said before the shutter clicked. He smirked before picking Arthur's satchel up and walking away, the knife still buried in Arthur's side. A low whine left his mouth and he breathed, every breath causing the knife to shift.

"Boys! We have a guest, please show him how we O'Driscolls say welcome!" Colm shouted with a harsh snicker as he sauntered onto his horse. "I have some... business to attend to." and with that Colm was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur wasn't sure he had ever felt more pain in his life, his daddy never beat him this bad, always tried to keep up the appearance of a good father to others. The O'Driscoll's had slowly come in, one after the other, and took turns punching and kicking at him. His nose was definitely broken from a kick to it and his body was probably more purple than not at this point. But that wasn't the worst. The men who had more say in Colm's gang had the privilege of using the assortment of knives on the table. The greasy man from before waltzed down the stairs and selected a carving knife before sneering at Arthur.

"Not so tough now, are ya? This will be fun regardless. You was fun last time too." He walked towards Arthur, and put the tip of the blade to his still healing wounded shoulder, from the last time. He pushed slightly grinning at the way Arthur's face twisted in pain and he seemingly got more paler then thought possible.

"That hurt? Good." He growled before bringing the knife back and plunging it into the wound. A pained screamed ripped from Arthur's mouth before he could try and stop it, a few tears leaked down his face as the old wound was ripped and tugged by the blade. The O'Driscoll laughed and he brought the knife out again, glancing at the candle on the table.

"Well we cant have you bleeding out before Colm has some fun with ya!" He rasped with a sadistic laugh before sticking the blade into the candles flame. When it was heated up, the O'Driscoll thrusted the hot blade into his shoulder, Arthur couldn't stop the raw scream that tore from this throat, he would have vomited if he had the energy, the pain was excruciating and blinding. Arthur wished he would feel no more, wished his body would give out just for a moment so he could blissfully feel nothing but luck was never on his side. His throat was raw from screaming as the O'Driscoll yanked the blade out. He ran the blade down Arthur's jaw, leaving blood and an angry red line.

"This was fun, but Colm will be back soon." And the door slammed shut and Arthur was alone.

Dutch and Hosea were in the middle of an argument regarding the Gray's and the Braithewaite's when Arthur's horse came barreling into camp, alone with no rider. The argument was cut short as they hurried over to the spooked animal and gently tried to calm it.

"Where's Arthur? He would never leave Soleil alone..." Hosea said, patting the frightened horse gently on the snout. Arthur was notorious for spending way too much time grooming and patting his horse around camp, that and Cain. Dutch and Hosea hadn't seen Arthur more happy then when Cain had chosen Arthur to follow around camp. They had once found Arthur fast asleep leaned up against Soleil with Cains head in his lap. The pair would never admit it out loud but they both felt love swell in their chests seeing their son at peace.

There was no sign of struggle, no blood, nothing but her being alone was cause for concern. It was alarming, but not as alarming as when Kieran came barreling into camp, pale as can be with Arthur's hat and a note clutched in his hands.

"O...O'Driscolls! The-They got Arthur! They were gonna kill me until Colm handed me this to deliver to you, sir!" Kieran stuttered out, nervous as hell.

"Show me!" Dutch ordered, leaving no room for argument. Kieran thrust the note at Dutch and the hat at Hosea, fear in his eyes. The hat had blood on the rim causing Hosea's blood to freeze.

"Dutch, what does the note say?" Hosea said, tensely. Watching as Dutch's face paled and his knuckles turned white with the force he was clutching the note.

"They have Arthur, and they're going to kill him."


	3. Chapter 3

Dutch couldn't remember a time when he hadn't considered Arthur his son. Sure, he wasn't his biologically but he considered the boy his family. Him and Hosea were Dutch's chosen family. The Curious Couple and Their Unruly Son. Fear wormed its way into Dutch's heart and he turned to Hosea.

"I, I mean we, need to find him." Dutch said, frantic thought spinning in his head. Anxiety bubbled up his throat and he found himself babbling ideas out loud to Hosea, who looked pale and concerned.

"Whats going on, boss? The O'Driscoll finally rat?" Micah sadistically laughed, fake lunging at the frightened kid.

"I ain't an O'Driscoll!" Kieran shouted, stuttering and turning and fleeing to the safety of Tilly and Mary-Beth.

"Arthur was taken, Mr. Bell. We're thinking of how we can get him." Dutch said, starting to pace back and forth infront of his tent, eyebrows pinched in thought.

"Awe, I'm sure cowpoke will be fine. He escaped last time, right." Micah had a devious grin that went unnoticed by either man.

Arthur wondered how things could possibly get worse for him. The wound in his side was tugged and pulled painfully with every breathe he took, which caused him to take air in sharply, and caused more pain. His shoulder burned and throbbed and went blissfully numb, he idly wondered if he would end up losing his arm, or if infection would kill him. He'd almost wish for death if he didn't want to see his family once more. Hell, he would even take Micah's ugly mug over the dark damp room he was hung in. He groaned and shut his eyes when sunlight streamed in as the door to the, he guessed, shed was flung open. Colm's delighted face met his eyes when he squinted at the arrival. Well, at least he wasn't underground this time.

"Arthur Morgan." Colm drawled, leaning down to Arthur's face. "Old Dutch should be receiving that letter right about now. He should be heading to where I said. The thing is, you aren't quiet weak enough yet." A sick grin took over Colm's face. He shouted behind him and the greasy guy from earlier tore down the stairs with a devious smirk. Words were exchanged before a sudden turn from Colm landed the butt of gun into Arthur's protesting ribs, he arched up in pain before another hit landed, and another and another. Arthur moaned in pain as Colm turned away.

"You have half an hour." And Colm was gone. A sudden burst of pain on his thigh caused him to gasp and jerk his gaze to the O'Driscoll left behind. He had a gun in one hand and a knife in the other. Arthur grimaced as he had an idea of what was coming next. Knife met thigh in a vicious attack followed by another stab in the other thigh, slightly lower. Arthur gasped and groaned in pain, he had no energy to scream, his throat already raw. The O'Driscoll leveled the gun at Arthur's head, smirked and aimed at this side, the opposite of his knife wound, and a loud bang filled the air. Arthur couldn't stop the scream that tore through his throat, and he couldn't stop the wave of nausea that caused him to vomit blood down his own face. He choked and gagged, before finally the O'Driscoll let him down, and dropped him painfully on his side.

"Can't have ya choking on your own vomit now, we wanna see Van Der Linde's face when we kill ya in front oh 'im." He rasped, before launching a serious of punches and kicks on Arthur's wounded form. Blissfully he passed out, escaping the pain.

DUTCH

I have Morgan.

I will kill him unless you meet me just outside Annesburg.

You have until tomorrow at dusk.

Colm O'Driscoll

Dutch shoved the note at Hosea and paced back and forth, ignoring Micah as he poked and prodded and antagonized Hosea. Hosea, for what it was worth, ignored Micah and planned.

"He escaped last time on his own, so why bother this time?" Micah drawled, lighting a cigarette before puffing out a breathe of smoke. "Cowpoke will be just fine, Dutch. No point in wasting the man power." Micah was hoping Dutch would cave and leave that idiot Morgan behind, his last plan of getting rid of Morgan failed when he showed up at camp and everyone fawned over his wounded form. Micah gritted his teeth, not this time, no. He'd make sure Morgan stayed away or he'd kill him himself.

"That... He... I... Dutch this isn't good. The picture... He looks dead already. We have to go, he's our boy!" Hosea barely concealed his panic as he looked at Dutch's face.

"Of course we do! But I, WE need a plan!" Dutch said, voice cracking with nerves. Charles walked over, worried, after having dealt with Arthur's horse.

"Whats going on?" He inquired. Hosea, lost for words, handed the note to Charles with shaky hands.

"...Oh no." Charles said, dropping his hands to his side, sighing. "He just healed from the last incident." Hosea suddenly put a hand to his chin.

"Well I might have a plan." Hosea said, a hopeful look filled Dutch's face before they turned to Dutch's tent and dropped the curtain.


	4. Chapter 4

When Arthur woke up next he found he was more pain than man, and also he was tied up on the back of a horse. He peeled his eyes open to find blurry scenery passing him by. He couldn't even begin to figure out where the pain was the worst, and he groaned.

"Morgan's waking up!" A shout from behind before a gun smacked him twice in the head and he saw no more.

The second time Arthur woke up he had a noose strung around his neck, and his hands tied. The O'Driscolls flung the other end of the noose around a tree branch and pulled, causing his breath to be taken from him and his throat protested. Fear bubbled up his throat, and what little breath he had came in short panicked bursts, he wiggled and shifted trying in vain to free his hands. He went to scream, before he realized he had a gag in his mouth. His eyes widened in panic as he saw Colm hop off his horse and saunter towards him.

"Looking at the sun I give Old Dutch two more hours before, well, send my regards to Annabelle." Colm cackled before lighting a cigarette and walking towards the road. Two gunmen flanked him, and Arthur idly wondered if Dutch cared enough to come. He thought about last time he escaped and even then he doubted anyone was coming to get him, he just got lucky they underestimated him. This time there was no chance of escape, he would die on this hill, without his family knowing how much he cared. He thought back to when he was at Clements Point, before he got taken the first time, and how Dutch told him he was special, how he was his son and always would be. A sick sense of dread filled his stomach as a wave of sadness threatened to close his aching throat. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry dammit! Arthur blinked rapidly as he figured his death was coming shortly. He regretted seeing Mary, Regretted not being a present father to Issac, regretted not telling Hosea and Dutch he loved them, regretted a lot. Tears flooded his eyes and he blinked them back. The sun dipped lower and Arthur relaxed, accepted he would die in mere moments, the pain would finally end- permanently. Colm hissed and paced, where the hell was Dutch? He should have been coming, guns a blazing to his own death. Colm walked back to Arthur and swung a fist into his gut, then his broken nose before turning and shouting over his shoulder. Arthur was too far gone to understand what was said but knew it wasn't good. The noose suddenly tightened around his neck and Arthur was dragged backwards, wounds scraping the ground before his feet finally left the ground and he was dangling, chocking. He struggled again, despite all odds he didn't want to die, not with this many loose ends, his wounds protested and his throat ache and the lack of oxygen started making his movements weaker. His eyes slid shut and he stopped struggling. Suddenly he felt himself fall, landing harshly on the ground, able to make pained weak gasps. He didn't move, didn't think he could. Above him a fire fight broke out, Colm was screaming at his men, though Arthur heard nothing over the roar in his ears.

"-UR! .. THUR! ARTHUR!" He heard and weakly he turned his head to see Dutch duck behind a tree as a bullet near missed him. Colm took off on a horse curses falling from his lips and his men were gunned down around him. A bullet nearly knocked him off his horse before he was out of sight.

"Should we go after him!?" Bill barked, ready to go.

"No! We need to get Arthur help, Colm can wait!" Hosea said as he and Dutch ran over to Arthur as they gunned down the last O'Driscoll. Arthur blearily blinked up at them, life fading in his eyes as he bled and wheezed. Relief flooded him seeing his family. If he were to die here he would be happy, surrounded by his found family. Dutch worriedly ran his hands through Arthur's matted hair, as Hosea tried to stop the bleeding around his re-opened wounds. Arthur barely managed a hiss in pain as pressure was applied to his aching shoulder.

"Bill! Put pressure on his left thigh, Javier! His right! Lenny, grab the wagon!" Hosea ordered, knowing Dutch was too far in his worry to be the leader right now. Arthur looked up at Dutch, a weak smile graced his lips.

"Y-you... c-ca..me..." He rasped, throat raw, sore, bruised. His voice barely audible. "I... wa-...s... so sc-sc-scared.." Dutch felt tears gather in his eyes, though he would deny it if ever asked. Did Arthur really think he was so unimportant they wouldn't come? Where on earth had he gotten that idea? Briefly Micah crossed his mind before he shook that thought off.

"Of course, son." Dutch croaked, throat clogged by emotion. He wished Arthur had more Faith in him, but he realized, perhaps too late, the kind of advantage he took of his son. Arthur was always off hunting, doing chores or missions, he rarely had time for himself and Dutch never said thank you, the realization settled on his chest, heavy and unforgiving. If... no when, when Arthur made it out of this Dutch would tell him how much he appreciated him being strong for the gang.

\Arthur was a man of mystery, no one really knew what he got up to when he left camp for days or weeks at a time, no one bothered to ask. He always came back with food and money, enough to hold off any questions, he was also pretty good at hiding any injuries, this was the first time in years anyone had seen Arthur Morgan bloody and beaten, blood pooled around him and his body was littered with bruises, he was more bruise than man at this point. Dutch's fingers combed through the matted and bloodied hair. Arthur's breathing was ragged, his throat raw and bruised, they had since removed the damn noose that cut his already breathing, but by no means were they out of the woods yet. His shoulder was of most concern to Hosea, burnt, bloody with the beginnings of infection starting to take place.

"Arthur, my boy, I'm sorry. I have to clean this shoulder. It's.. .well it's not going to be pleasant." Hosea said, softly stroking Arthur's cheek. Arthur's eyes met Hosea's and he hummed in response.

"T-to... t-t-t-ired... fig-ht." He rasped. Dutch and Hosea's eyes met and the both had fear in their eyes. Their boy was always so strong, to hear how weak he was was... well it was heart breaking. The wagon, driven by Lenny, pulled up then and Lenny hurried over, pale with sweat running down his face. He thrusted a bottle of liquor at Hosea, a fine whiskey. Hosea took a deep breathe before pouring a small amount on the burnt, bloodied wound, watching as Arthur wheezed, whining and trying to arch away from the pain. Dutch shushed him gently, whispering words that had no meaning, just wanting Arthur to feel like he wasn't alone.

"We have to move him, get him back to camp so we can stitch him up. He's got more wounds on his sides, look, see there?" His sides and thighs were slowly leaking blood, making a small puddle underneath him. "Keep pressure on him boys, I fear he has not much more blood to lose. Lenny! I need those cloth strips, and the bandages!" Off Lenny ran, grabbing the cloth and wad of bandages before hurrying back over. Hosea swallowed thickly before moving down to Arthur's left thigh. He gently lifted the leg up, ignoring the groan of protest from his boy, before pouring more whiskey and wrapping the bandage tightly. He did the same for the right thigh and looked at Dutch.

"I gotta, his sides..." Dutch nodded and gently held Arthur's head in his hands.

"This won't feel good son, I'm sorry." He gently rolled Arthur onto his side with the help of Bill, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. Arthur moaned in protest, world briefly going dark. Why were they hurting him more? He wanted the pain to stop. His throat was killing him, his body, well he wasn't sure where the pain started, but he knew it got more intense. The stab wound on his side protested and throbbed as Hosea moved his shirt up to see the cut, it was then they could see the full extent of his bruising.

"His ribs, they're definetly broken... I'll hurry this up then. Breathe deeply, Arthur, you can do it. No, son, stay awake, that's it." Hosea worked faster, dump whiskey, but bandage, then cloth, rotate Arthur (Despising the way his boy groaned and flinched beneath him) pour more whiskey, the rest of the bottle, bandage and tie the cloth together to add pressure to his sides. Hosea sat back on his heels and stared at Arthur. His poor boy, he really did have the worst luck.

"Lenny, Bill, we gotta move. Help me lift him up. Mind his injuries, careful! That's it, lay him down. Dutch, you sit with him. Lenny, ride next to us. Bill you with me." Hosea ordered, stalking towards the wagons drivers seat. The gang set out, not too fast as to raise suspicion, but definitely a hurried one.

Arthur dreamed. A stag and a wolf paced back and forth, eyeing one another up. Arthur took a step forward and both turned to him, a nasty wolfish grin graced the wolfs face before it lunged towards Arthur causing him to fall back. The stag bellowed and ran forward protectively standing in front of Arthur causing the wolf to back off. The stag turned towards Arthur and blew hot air across his face. Arthur smiled peacefully and reached forward, touching the nose of the beast. As his hand met the flesh of the stag he was jerked awake by a burning sensation in his shoulder, his lungs felt like they were on fire and he painfully tried to shout and move away from the offending hands. Fear filled his body and he blearily opened his eyes as he fought.

"Arthur! It's just us, come on son, wake up!" Dutch. That was Dutch. Where was he? What happened? God everything hurt. He stared at Dutch as he was led. Slowly he realized he was in camp, and away from his torture. He openly sobbed as he was laid down on his cot.

"H-H-Home..." He drawled out weakly, pain clouding his thoughts. "Came..." he mumbled staring at Dutch, then Hosea. Both worriedly met each other eyes. What happened to him? Arthur promptly passed out from pain, tears still dripped down his bloody and bruised face. Grimshaw came storming in cursing and ordering, before promptly shoving the curious couple out of the tent muttering about washing themselves up, NOW, they looked like shit. Hosea and Dutch both washed their faces before sitting at outside Dutch's tent, facing Arthur's tent. They were too mentally exhausted to speak so they kept each other company, staring at the ground and worrying.

"They ain't comin' for a useless wretch like ya. Give up, Morgan."

"Useless."

"You've got soft, cowpoke!"

"You'll betray me in the end, you seem the type."

"Not now, Arthur!"

Arthur blearily opened his eyes, lost, confused and in so so much pain. Where was he? What was going on? Did the O'Driscolls get tired of tormenting him? He was vaguely aware of someone bustling around near him and he tensed up, waiting, for a hit he was sure to come. Mentally or physically he wasn't sure he could take much more. A hand gently dusted his forehead and Arthur turned his head away from it, fear and anxiety, he had to leave, to get out. His eyes flew open only to meet Ms. Grimshaw's worried gaze. The flood of relief took his breath away momentarily. Her lips were moving but Arthur was too delirious to understand what was saying. It wasn't until she gently cupped his face and shouted behind her that he realized he was rasping apologies.

"He's not out of the woods but his physical wounds will heal, I know it looked bad but, well. He'll live." She spoke as Hosea and Dutch entered the tent. "Mentally, I don't know what they did to him, boy is scared shitless. Won't stop apologizing." Arthur hadn't acted this afraid since they found him as a boy, at 14. He flinched at every touch, only spoke when spoken too and was hardly ever around if the two men had even thought about drinking. It took 3 years, and Annabelle's sweet reassurance for Arthur to finally open up completely. Seeing him now, greatly reminded them of that innocent 14 year old who was scared of his own shadow. Susan left, reminding the boys to rest, properly, and swept out of the tent, immediately ordering people around, and packing the camp up for the night. Hosea grabbed two chairs and put them next to Arthur's bed as they watched their son wheeze apologies, between hiccups of air.

"Arthur, my son, you need to rest, save your throat. They did a number on you. Come on, drink this, and rest." Dutch gently reassured Arthur, trying desperately to beat the guilt down. His boy needed him strong, and so did Hosea. Only time would tell if he would be alright.

A few weeks had passed and physically the wounds started to heal, they sent Micah to Rhodes to get some medicine for his shoulder wound, which beat back the infection and he seemed to be recovering. Mentally however...

"Arthur!" Dutch boomed, flinching as Arthur flinched away dropping his stew.

"D-Dutch?" Arthur spoke, hesitant and weak, frightened. Dutch was reminded of young Arthur again.

"You doin' alright, son?" Dutch asked, lowering his voice. Arthur nodded leaned down to pick up his now empty bowl. He supposed he would have to wait for dinner now. Cain happily licked the rest of his stew off the grass, though.

"Just fine Dutch, why?" He hoped he sounded as confident as he wanted, he didn't want to cause any problems, he needed to heal so he could go back out there and make more money. He was barely allowed out of bed now, Susan was adamant he rested or 'I'll skin you myself, Mr. Morgan!'

"Just checking in is all, son. You... You know you can talk to me. About what happened." Dutch tried, watching as Arthur's face froze, a look he had yet to see crossed his boys eyes.

"I'm alright, Dutch." And with that he bolted, to the safety of his tent. Javier watched, remembering how they found Arthur, and walked over to Dutch. Arthur closed his tent door and breathed heavily, Cain had loyally followed him. He mindlessly pet his head and sat, leaning heavily on his head. His shoulder throbbed in phantom pain as he mostly had healed. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, trying to stop an incoming panic attack. He knew, honestly, that Dutch or Hosea wouldn't hurt him but that didn't stop the panic bubbling up, didn't stop the flinch. His thoughts went back to the shed, where they beat him mentally almost as bad as physically. He shuddered, and Cain licked his hand gently.

"It's okay boy." He whispered. Lost in thought, memories.

"They won't find you, not until it's too late. If they even bother lookin'. You're useless. Look at ya!" An O'Driscoll leered, dragging a knife down his stomach, just light enough to raise the skin in red angry lines. Arthur kept his mouth shut, desperately wishing the pain would end. The O'Driscoll snickered then put the blade up to Arthur's eye, pushing lightly as Arthur slammed his eye shut. He wondered if he would lose his eye, what would that do, he really would be useless. The blade lifted, and then was scratched across his cheek, leaving a bloody line that slowly leaked blood, down, over his eyes and into his hair. Arthur hissed, watching as droplet after droplet landed in the bin below him.

"I, for one, hope we can fill this bucket with your blood. Hell, I have half a mind to slit your throat and watch you bleed out." He growled lowly in Arthur ear, panic spread across Arthur's chest in waves. Still he kept his mouth shut, shuddering under the pain. The man brought a knife down to Arthur's throat, pressing lightly. Arthur swallowed, trying not to breathe. The O'Driscoll pulled the knife away, before plunging the blade into Arthur's hand, causing him to groan out, and wriggle, desperately trying to get away. The O'Driscoll left the knife in his hand, before walking out.

Arthur flexed his hand, disliking the sting that was left, though it was one of his lighter injuries, and healed quicker then the others, he still found it hard to move sometimes. He supposed he was lucky, he could still move it, albeit a bit painfully. Cain gently licked his hand before stretching a shoving his way out of the tent. Arthur lay his head against his bed and breathed deeply. He controlled his breathing, before he groaned and shifted himself up and onto his bed. Laying on his back he shuddered under the weight of his thoughts. He wanted to be okay, wanted to forget tho whole thing but whenever he thought he was getting better a flashback came flying in and caused him to hyperventilate and escape to the safety of his tent. It didn't help that Micah would came around and purposefully jab his side, or clap his hand on his shoulder, no matter how many times Arthur would try and defend himself. It was always when Dutch or Hosea weren't around, and he didn't think it would matter if he did say anything.

He sighed and gently grasped at his shoulder. Unbeknownst to him Micah was lurking outside his tent, grinning maliciously. Today Micah decided he would finish off what he started all those months ago, finally end Morgan.

Arthur woke in a frenzy, a pillow blocking his breathing. Arthur flailed, desperately trying to push the attacker away. He was no longer in camp, no, he was in the shed, hung upside down and blood dripping, pain carving away at his soul. Arthur threw one lucky weak punch and the attacker let up, Arthur took a deep breath and screamed, desperately trying to wriggle away from where he thought the attack was coming from, fear plunging his whole body in cold water. Voices rose and Arthur vaguely was aware of someone straddling him. Just in time, Arthur grabbed the blade, cutting his hands, but stopping it from plunging into his heart. Arthur struggled, wildly, pushing and gasping, desperately pushing the blade away from him. A loud bang filled the tent and the body on top of him fell, the knife just barely cutting his throat as his arms gave out.

"Arthur! Oh god, Arthur!" He barely registered the voices above him before the body was pulled away and he gasped desperately for air, hands flying up to his neck to cradle the wound. Luckily it wasn't deep but damn was it bleeding. Hands suddenly were pulling at his hands and he flailed wildly, desperately trying to get away.

"Arthur, son, it's me! Please, Arthur, god... Calm down!" Arthur gasped and panted as he wildly looked around, his eyes finally meeting Dutch's.

"D-Dutch...?" He stopped struggling, going limp, staring at Dutch, relief almost flooded his eyes, but fear took over. "I'm, I'm sorry! Please... Don't..." Arthur gasped, paniced, why would Dutch try to kill him? Why? Was he really that useless?

"What? God Arthur, no! Relax, I need to look at your neck! Arthur! Calm down!" Dutch grabbed Arthur's face, roughly turning it to the side, frantic, desperate. He shouted for Hosea and Arthur went deathly still. Hosea rushed in, briefly glanced at the body on the floor before rushing over and wiping the blood with a cloth, inspecting the cut.

"It's not deep, a simple bandage, keep an eye on it, should be okay. Dutch, what are we gonna do bout..." Both eyes turned to Micah's body on the floor, a bloody hole in his head, and a shocked expression permanently etched into his face. Dutch swallowed, before shouting for Javier. Javier came tearing in, obviously he was asleep moments before the gunshot woke up the whole camp.

"Can you deal with Mr. Bell please." Dutch said, voice stone cold, no emotion met his face, and he turned back to his chosen son. A brief look of grief flashed across his face. Arthur lay desperately staring at Dutch, gasping and whining, he was there but not... there. Arthur was years back, a terrified boy who was trembling against a wagon as Dutch gently coaxed him away. Hosea watched the scene before him, a lump in his throat. He was scared Arthur would never mentally recover. But like Dutch always said, he needed to have faith. Dutch crouched down, carefully, slowly, staring at Arthur, any trace of fear he would freeze.

"Son... Arthur... Talk to me son..." Arthur wheezed, staring, blinking, scared.

"D-Dutch... I-I-I-" Arthur stuttered, he raised his hand to his neck again, swallowing hard. He wasn't weak, didn't want to be weak. So he swung his legs over the bed, careful of Dutch and stood, albeit shakily. Hosea fluttered around, touching Arthur's hand, checking his neck before pulling Arthur towards the wash bin. Arhur's leg shook as he walked, well was more dragged, as he focused on calming his breath. Dutch trailed behind, glancing around the camp.

"Everyone! Back to bed!" Dutch ordered, dismissing the camp as they all scattered. Hosea leaned Arthur forward, hands reached for hands and Hosea warned Arthur before he splashed his and scrubbed his face with water, he paid extra attention to the cut on his neck. Arthur flinched briefly when hands ghosted over his neck.

"I... I need to wrap this Arthur. I'm... I'm sorry son." Hosea put his hand on Arthur's back and guided him to the first aid tent. He wrapped the bandage across the neck, and sighed. He wondered vaguely if he should keep the bandages with him at all times now, seeing as Arthur used half the supplies already this month.

Arthur stood silently, the only sound that he made was his short breaths. It was then he noticed the blood on his sons hands, he grabbed Arthur's hands, inspecting them before also wrapping them in bandages. Arthur's eyes flickered across Hosea's face, searching for.. well he wasn't sure what but when he didn't find it he sighed in relief.

"Pa..." Arthur mumbled, before his legs gave out and he fell to his knees.

Months had passed since Micah was shot and killed, months since Arthur had smiled, months since he started flinching at any touch, or shout. But Arthur was strong, and three weeks after the Micah incident Arthur was venturing out of camp, hunting and doing chores, like nothing happened. Albeit he did flinch and stutter when someone raised their voice at him, even in the friendly manner. Hosea would watch from a distance, knowing there was nothing he could do until Arthur came to him. Dutch was going to worry himself to death over Arthur at this rate, if he was gone more than a day Dutch would start to get frantic and send someone out to find him. Arthur wasn't bothered by that, not really, he understood that without Micah they were down a man. Arthur desperately tried to pull his weight plus more, but he feared it was never enough, soon he stopped eating the stew, leaving it to the other members, instead he would buy a couple cans of food and ration it out. He stayed away more often, hunting, and following leads,even if they turned up nothing. He took more jobs, did more bounties, he sold more pelts and worked hard. Maybe too hard, he hadn't slept in a few days at this point and his world went blurry briefly. He shook his head and turned Soleil around, back towards camp. He had a pretty good haul, the camp would eat good and the stuff he stole from an abandoned shed would bring in a few hundred bucks when combined with the pelts. He made it back to camp and just as he was dismounting his world blurred and he felt sick, stumbling off his horse and landing harshly on his ass with a grunt. He hoped no one saw that as he fought back the nausea, and struggled to his feet. He should probably eat something and sleep, but first he had to drop this off at Pearson and the box. He limped his way over to Pearson.

"Brought some meat back, you can probably sell the hides." Arthur said, passing by and knocking on his table. Pearson jumped and nodded.

"Okay, Arthur." Pearson said, watching as Arthur limped past him towards the ledger. Dutch wasn't at his tent and Arthur hated how he felt brief relief as he made it to the ledger. He dumped in a bunch of jewelry and some bill folds before making it back to his tent. He groaned as he sat down on his bed before pulling a can of food from his satchel. He gulped it down in two bites before laying back in bed and wishing desperately for sleep. He stared at the ceiling of his tent for hours, awake, and haunted by the memories. He jerked when Cain licked his and suddenly, nearly shouting in fear before chuckling briefly and petting Cain's head. He decided that since he wasn't getting any sleep he would go see Soleil and give her some much needed care before the other members of camp woke up. He found Soleil leaning against a tree, she whinnied quietly before nibbling Arthur's hair. Arthur laughed and pet her neck before grabbing his brush and running it over her silky coat. Cain yawned and stretched behind him before laying down, watching. Arthur pulled some meat out of pocket and threw it to Cain before Soleil bumped him with her nose, almost as if asking where hers was. Arthur laughed, and grabbed a peppermint before petting her nose. Arthur leaned against the same tree as Soleil, sitting with his back away from camp. Cain crawled over to him and put his head in his lap. Arthur petted his head in a gentle rhythm as Soleil grazed beside him. Soon enough Arthur was fast asleep, hat covering his face, hand between Cain's ears.

"Arthur? Arthur?!" Dutch swung around, Soleil was here, but Arthur was not. He hoped his boy was okay, he desperately searched for Hosea before finding him waving Dutch over, grinning. Hosea shushed Dutch when he opened his mouth and pointed. Dutch crouched next to Hosea and saw Soleil grazing, protectively standing over Arthur's sleeping form, Cain wagged his tail and blinked at the pair. Arthur mumbled in his sleep and his hands balled into fists.

"Pa... Pa... No..." And Arthur woke with a light start, meeting eyes with Dutch and Hosea. He screwed his eyes shut before opening them and rubbing his eyes sleepily with his fist.

"Mornin to ya." Arthur croaked and stretched before giving a scratch Cains chin. They chuckled and stood, helping Arthur to his feet. Arthur stretched a knot out of his neck and cracked his back before following after his fathers.

"You know, Dutch... I think we should go fishing. Arthur, my boy, would you like to join us?" Arthur nodded, as Dutch grinned. The trio made their way to the boat, telling Susan where they were going. Arthur went to get in position to row when Dutch gently guided him away.

"I'll row son, you look like you could drop dead any second. Here lean back, relax." Arthur stared unsure at Dutch, then Hosea before scrambling into the boat and leaning back, watching as Hosea and Dutch climbed in. He enjoyed the gentle rocking of the boat and the conversation Dutch and Hosea were having as they leisurely rowed the boat around. Arthur found himself drifting off to sleep, before his hat was pulled over his eyes and Dutch whispered something to Hosea.

"Our boy..."


End file.
